


Between bad and worse

by SinNotAlone



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Choking, Cock & Ball Torture, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sadism, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinNotAlone/pseuds/SinNotAlone
Summary: As things fall apart around Din Djarin, Boba Fett does what he can. He starts by letting Din share his bed and ends up sharing considerably more.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 31
Kudos: 369





	Between bad and worse

**Author's Note:**

> This is self indulgent and has nothing to do with my previous fic ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Din Djarin had offered to sleep on the deck, but Fennec Shand refused. On Slave I, the sleeping berth was barely big enough for two. He thought he was doing her a favor, resigning himself to a stiff night slumped in a chair. He hadn’t realized she’d claimed that part of the ship as her own some time ago.

So while Fennec curled up for the long ride through hyperspace, Din followed Boba Fett deeper into the hull. Without a word, Fett stripped his armor then slipped into the bunk. Din added his gloves and boots to the pile, a token gesture for his host, before crawling in after.

The narrow bunks adjoined, and Fett’s body was close enough that Din could feel warmth radiating from him. Though Din curled up as small as he could make himself, if he shifted a few inches, the plate on his shin would be pressed to Fett’s thigh. Unlike Din, Fett didn’t seem to care how much space he took up. He laid on his back with his legs stretched out and his hands folded under his head. Maybe he had the right idea, as sleep seemed to take him almost immediately.

Din pillowed his helmet on his arm and watched the steady rise and fall of Fett’s broad chest. His scarred face was placid in the dim light, a far cry from the fierce grimace he’d worn on Tython. Din envied how easily Fett had made peace with his actions. Soon his inhales lengthened, and his eyes began to twitch under the lids.

The image of Fett wielding his gaffi stick flashed in Din’s mind. His swift movements had been equal parts brutality and grace. The memory did nothing to help Din fall asleep. There was something intimate about blunt force that blaster fire could never rival.

Din’s shallow, quick breaths made his helmet stifling, so he released the seal and tilted it up a sliver to allow for better air flow. The berth smelled like Fett—musk, exhaust, and incense. It permeated the cramped bunk so heavily that Din could practically feel Fett’s body blanketing his own.

Din slipped a hand under the helmet to cover his nose and mouth. It didn’t do any good. Goosebumps spread across his skin as he imagined that it was Fett’s hand covering his face, holding him down as his other hand slipped lower.

Din bit his palm to bring himself back to reality. But reality was Fett lying inches away, his breath hitching like he was having a pleasant dream. His head had fallen to the side, and his cowl slipped down to reveal the strong column of his neck.

Din hadn’t been this hard in recent memory.

His cock ached to the point that he was mildly concerned. There was no way he’d be able to sleep like this. Slowly, he slid his hand down the front of his pants, careful not to make a sound. He twitched in his hand as he ran his thumb over the slick tip. It wouldn’t take long. If he didn’t move too much, Fett would never know. Din didn’t worry about the mess. He could clean up after a decent night’s sleep.

As he squeezed his shaft, a tiny moan escaped Din’s lips.

“You don’t have to do that alone, you know,” Fett said, his speech slurred from sleep.

Din froze. He slammed his eyes shut, hoping that if he kept them closed, Fett would be gone when he opened them. Fett was still there when he opened them, and Din still had his hand down his pants.

Fett shifted onto his side, to face Din. Din tensed, afraid and eager for Fett to touch him, but Fett came no closer.

“You ever been with a man?” Fett said casually, like he was asking about his favorite holodrama.

Din nodded cautiously.

“Speak up,” Fett said.

“Yes,” Din stuttered.

“One you didn’t pay?” No harsh tone of judgment colored Fett’s question.

“No,” Din admitted.

“Do you want to change that?”

Din was stunned speechless. Fett reached for the front of his pants, slow enough that Din could have batted his hand away if he didn’t want it. Fett’s fingertips cupped Din’s sack, and the heel of his hand pressed firm where Din’s own hand lay. Din let go of his cock and yanked his hand out of his pants like Fett’s touch was the bite of a viper.

“I was just trying to fall asleep,” Din protested.

“I wasn’t born yesterday.” Fett began to grind his palm in circles. “If this didn’t have anything to do with me, you would have done it in the ‘fresher.”

“I—”

Din tried to come up with another excuse, but Fett was right. He wouldn’t have done it that way unless Fett was lying next to him. The risk had been careless, stupid, intoxicating. His mind was beginning to unravel. After losing the child to the empire, he scrambled for something to reel him in.

Though he was disappointed in his lack of self control, Din still couldn’t gather the resolve to force Fett away. He placed his hands flat on the berth and curled his toes, trying to trick himself into believing that if his hands weren’t involved, he wouldn’t be liable for Fett’s actions. Fett increased the pressure of his palm, and Din just barely rocked his hips to the rhythm.

“What do you pay them for?” Fett asked, his mouth an inch from Din’s helmet.

Din whimpered but didn’t answer. How could he admit that to Fett? While others requested the prettiest men at the brothel, he looked for the toughest. It made it easier to forget that he was paying them, to imagine himself a thrall at their feet.

“Their mouths on you?”

Fett unbuckled Din’s belt and waited, fingers poised to unzip his pants. Din made no move to stop Fett, so he pushed his pants around his hips, and his underwear with them. The recycled air in the ship was cool on Din’s hard cock, and he shifted toward the warmth of Fett’s hovering hand.

“Sometimes,” Din said. It wasn’t a lie. Occasionally one of the men would make Din squirm in bonds as he sucked him off. The best part was when he stopped, and Din had to beg for more.

“Sometimes?” Fett ran the calloused tip of one finger along the head of Din’s cock.

Din shuddered. “Not usually.”

Fett loosely circled the crown of Din’s cock with two fingers, more teasing than stimulating. “Their cocks inside you then?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Din answered evasively.

“Then what did you ask them for?”

“I ask to be.” Din swallowed. “To be good for them.”

Fett’s fingers stopped moving. “You pay prostitutes to get them off?”

“Yes,” Din admitted.

“Well lucky you. I expect my boys to be very, very good. No payment required.” Fett wrapped his hand around Din’s cock and squeezed lightly.

“That’s only part of it.” Din’s ears rushed with blood. He should stop talking. He should keep it to himself.

“What’s the other part,” Fett asked. He let go of Din’s cock and lay his hand on the curls above.

“I don’t like it when they make it easy.” Din spoke in a whisper. If he said it quiet enough, maybe it would be like he hadn’t said it at all.

“Oh,” Fett said. “Oh.”

Din turned his head away from Fett. He should have lied. Maybe then he would have gotten to feel Fett’s mouth on him. He could have imagined the rest—a heavy hand on his throat, cruel words goading him on. Now he was stuck in this berth for the next eight hours with someone who found him pathetic.

Fett teased his fingers through the curls and up under the edge of Din’s shirt. On the soft flesh of Din’s stomach, he curled his fingers. Gradually he increased the pressure. His blunt fingernails bit into the delicate skin just below Din’s belly button, sharp and insistent.

Din gasped so loud it sounded like he was suffocating. He arched his back, leaning into and away from the touch at the same time. Sparks shot from the four crescent-shaped marks on his stomach straight to his cock, and what had grown limp swelled once more.

“I like watching people hurt,” Fett said, matter of fact.

With his head turned away, Din couldn’t see Fett watching him. He lifted his head up off the berth a fraction of an inch, then set it back down when shame gripped him. The second time, he managed to turn his head in Fett’s direction. Fett’s full lips curled to form the hint of a smile, and Din shut his eyes. The patronizing look on Fett’s face was all he wanted to see.

Din moved his lips, but his throat didn’t want to let the sound out. “How do you hurt them?” he whispered finally.

“Lots of different ways,” Fett explained.

He traced the raised marks he’d left on Din’s stomach. The burn traveled deep inside of Din, and he tilted his hips in a subtle plea.

“What’s your favorite way,” Din asked.

“Making someone choose between bad and worse,” Fett said. He walked his fingers down Din’s abdomen, back to his aching cock.

“Do you want to do that to me?” Din wasn’t quiet sure what Fett meant, but he very much wanted to find out.

“Yes, I do,” Fett said, circling Din’s cock in his hand. “But not right now.”

“Why not?” The rejection was a blow to Din’s already sore heart.

“Stuck in this kriffing bunk, two days without sleep, you still in that armor of yours.” Fett pressed his thumbnail to the slit of Din’s cock. “On Nevarro, you can rest where you belong.”

“Where?”

“At my feet,” Fett said.

Din grabbed the beskar plates that covered his thighs so hard the unforgiving metal bruised his fingers. Removing his armor to kneel at Fett’s feet. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage it, but he needed it. He needed more than just the notion of what Fett would feel like inside him.

Din knew Fett was watching him, measuring his reaction. It was only when Din let go of the beskar that Fett changed the topic.

“Now, you said you were trying to fall asleep. Let me help,” Fett offered.

He spit on the head on Din’s cock. The hot saliva dripped down the shaft, and Fett spread it with his hand. Din sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and worried it, trying not to come on the spot while Fett stroked him. His precome mixed with the spit, and Fett’s hand made a wet noise as he picked up speed, his thumb teasing the head just right.

“Pretty little cock,” Fett said. “Thought you might be bigger, but I guess it’s just the armor that makes it seem like that.”

Din bit his lip. He felt like his face might catch fire. He’d never been more thankful for his helmet.

“Fits perfect in my palm.”

Fett wasn’t lying. Din’s cock was no longer than the breadth of his palm. His hand covered Din completely, and he needed to only squeeze and shift his grip to stroke Din fully.

“Sounds like you don’t have much reason to use it though,” Fett said sweetly, like it was the nicest compliment.

Din moaned. His cock was useless. Fett was being gracious getting him off.

“I want you to come for me. Can you do that?”

Din nodded. He wouldn’t be able to last much longer. He hadn’t felt anything but his own hand in months.

With his other hand, Fett cupped Din’s sack. Din clenched his thighs, and his cock jerked in Fett’s grip. What started out as the gentlest possible massage became a tighter hold on his sack. A threat like that on such a tender part of him was too much to endure. Din’s chest rose and fell violently as he panted. He screwed his eyes shut so tight he saw a flash of light. He couldn’t fight it any longer. His cock jerked as come coated Fett’s hand. It dripped onto Din’s bare belly and his suit of armor, but Din was too gone to care.

Fett stroked him through his climax. Din quivered as his cock went from hard to soft to oversensitive. Fett released his sack and soothed the skin below, coming close to Din’s hole but not quiet touching him there. How far would Fett have taken it if he hadn’t come so quickly, Din wondered.

When Din’s breathing slowed, Fett asked, “What are we going to do with your mess?”

He held his filthy hand in front of Din’s helmet. Din stared at Fett’s thick fingers, shiny with his come. He didn’t pull away, so Fett took it as an invitation to reach under the edge of the helmet.

“No,” Din gasped before Fett could move the helmet. He scooted back in the berth, out of Fett’s reach.

“Good boys clean up their messes,” Fett stated it as a fact.

Din licked his lips. It would be no different from eating or drinking in front of others. He pulled the helmet back far enough to reveal only his lower lip and steadied it so it didn’t slide off. Fett shifted closer, and there was nowhere for Din to retreat to.

“Very good,” Fett said.

Made bold by the praise, Din opened his mouth.

Fett held his fingers right in front of Din’s mouth but didn’t slip them between his lips. Din leaned forward to take the middle finger into his mouth. He ran his tongue across the calloused pad and up to the first knuckle, learning it by feel. His own taste he already knew, and he didn’t mind the bitterness that lingered at the back of his tongue.

Another finger joined the first, then another. Din stretched his lips around them. Saliva trailed down his chin. Fett’s fingers were far thicker than his. Would this be what it was like if he took Fett’s cock in his mouth? He must be big, to have made those sort of comments about Din.

“That’s enough for now,” Fett said.

He pulled his fingers out and wiped Din’s face off with his cowl. Din licked his lips, cold spit drying on his chin. His pulled his helmet down but didn’t reengage the seal.

“When was the last time someone touched you?” Fett asked.

“It’s hard, with the child. He’s my priority.” It tore at Din to think of the child, but Fett had sworn to help find him, and they were on their way to do just that.

Fett pulled Din into his arms and cradled him. Din’s first instinct was to squirm out of Fett’s embrace; instead, he rested with his helmet on Fett’s chest, and Fett pressed his bare cheek to the beskar. Din wondered how Fett’s cheek would feel against his own. Slowly, Fett rocked Din back and forth. In the dim light of the sleeping birth, Din almost felt safe.

When the tightness in Din’s chest released, Fett’s embrace began weigh on him. Under normal circumstances, he would have brushed him off and returned to his side of the bunk. But he could still taste a hint of Fett’s skin on his lips. He owed him more than a cold shoulder. He owed him something in return.

Din placed his hand on Fett’s stomach and slid it down his coarse woolen shirt. “Do you want me to—”

Before Din could feel his cock, Fett took hold of his wrist in a vise-like grip.

“No. You don’t do that unless I tell you to,” he reprimanded.

Din stayed silent. He didn’t try to remove his hand from Fett’s hold. He’d learn his lesson.

“If you want to do this, that’s how it will be.”

Fett laced his fingers with Din’s. He brought Din’s hand up to his mouth and ran the knuckles along his chapped lips.

“You want to be good for me?”

Din burrowed his helmet in the crook of Fett’s arm. “Yes,” he mumbled.

“Then sleep.”

Fett rolled onto his side and pulled Din with him. His arm curled around Din’s chest, holding him close. Din didn’t dare push him away, though he doubted he’d be able to sleep with someone else so close. He wasn’t used to being held. The steady stream of breath at the back of Din’s neck calmed him, and he drifted on the edge of consciousness. He wasn’t sorry to be wrong.

* * *

On Nevarro, they booked two rooms. Fennec arched one eyebrow.

“Suit yourself,” she said and parted from them at the entrance to the inn.

Din waited until Fett had disappeared down the hallway before he followed, like it mattered if anyone saw them together. Fett had left the door open, and Din entered the room they’d agreed to share. There was only one bed. It was was large enough that they wouldn’t necessarily touch if they kept to either side, but that wasn’t the plan.

Din didn’t know why he’d expected his own bed. The joined bunks they’d spent the night before in were as good as one. But with this arrangement, he didn’t have his own corner to retreat to, and it made him a little claustrophobic.

The drapes rattled as Fett pulled them closed. He took a seat in a chair by the window, and an errant beam of light cut across his shoulder. He’d already removed his helmet, but with his face left in shadow, it was hard to see whether he was bored or pleased. He stretched his arms behind his head and watched Din pace at the foot of the bed.

“Wearing a hole in the carpet won’t speed things up,” Fett said.

Din balled his hands into fists. He wanted to tear this room apart, burn down the inn, the whole town. See it reduced to ashes like his ship had been. He’d lost it; he’d lost the child. Now all he could do was wait for others to help patch up his mistakes. At least he still had a chance to find the child. Cara was going to secure Mayfeld’s release, and Fett would take them to him.

He stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped.

“Come here,” Fett called.

Din blinked and raised his head. He’d almost forgotten who he was with. This wasn’t what Fett wanted from him at all. He was disappointing him.

“Blow off some of that steam before you burn out,” Fett continued.

Fett inclined his head, and Din pulled himself off of the bed. He could do this. He joined Fett by the window and grabbed the chair next to him.

“No,” Fett said and looked from the chair to the floor. “You liked the idea last night.”

Sweat began to prickle under Din’s collar, the way it did when he knew he was being tailed. His armor was suddenly too tight against his ribs. He shuffled to stand in front of Fett.

“Kneel for me.”

Din knelt with the grace of a crumbling building. His knees were made of paperboard, and he eased himself down until his ankles pinched against his greaves. He collapsed the rest of the way and caught himself with his hands. A flush burned across his face. Thankfully, Fett couldn’t see how bright his cheeks were.

After he had arranged himself and blinked half a dozen times to calm his nerves, he sneaked a glance at Fett. He expected a look of disapproval, which was what he deserved for his inept display. Instead, Fett’s lips were pursed and his eyes hungry.

“Let me help.”

Fett sounded so satisfied to be of assistance that Din considered rejecting the offer. Din’s cock wanted something else, so he kept his mouth shut.

Fett bent forward, his enigmatic face hovering before Din’s mask. He tentatively placed his hands on Din’s thighs. Without gloves on, his palms were hot even through the thick fabric of Din’s pants. Din nodded, and Fett slid his hands between Din’s legs, pulling his thighs farther apart. Din rolled his hips forward, seeking more of the heat of Fett’s touch. Fett removed his hands before Din could get even the hint of friction against his cock.

“Back straight.” Fett gripped Din’s narrow waist and pulled him so his ribs were aligned with his hips. His big hands made Din feel little in a way he wasn’t used to.

Din didn’t know what to do with his own hands. He wrapped his fingers around his ankles, but that didn’t look nice, so he put them behind his back. It was wrong, of course, but Fett was gentle in correcting him. He took Din’s hands and lay them palm up on his thighs, giving a firm press to each wrist before he released them.

“Keep them there unless I say,” Fett said.

Din scanned his body from head to toe and took note of each limb. The distance between his knees, the angle of his elbows. This was something he could do. He would get it right, the next time Fett asked him to kneel.

“And eyes on me.”

Din raised his chin and studied Fett’s face. Though Din was still fully armored, Fett looked at him like he was completely bare. His lips were parted and a faint pink painted his cheekbones. Din rolled his shoulders, forcing his chest forward, and sat up taller. He wasn’t ashamed of his body. He wanted Fett to look at him that way.

“Let me see your eyes.” Fett’s brow pinched as he said it. He knew the magnitude of what he asked Din.

Din didn’t acknowledge the request.

“Will you take off your helmet?” Fett said patiently.

“That is not the way,” Din protested.

“Was it the way when you took my hand in your mouth?” Fett gripped his knees like he was trying to keep his hands occupied.

“I didn’t—” Din started to form an excuse. “No,” he finished.

Something that might have been fear slowed Fett’s response. “Do you regret what happened on the ship?”

“No, but—”

“Do you want to hurt for me?” Fett interrupted.

“Yes.”

“I need to see your face then. Otherwise, I won’t know when it’s too much.”

“I’ll tell you,” Din replied.

Fett ran a hand over his jaw and breathed deeply. “I’m not going to make you take it off, but it’ll limit what we do.”

“I accept that.”

“And the rest of your armor?”

Din answered by removing his chest plate and setting it beside Fett’s chair, almost as if it were an offering. His pauldrons and vambraces quickly followed. He didn’t notice the weight when he wore them, only the relief his shoulders felt when he took them off. When he fingered the top of his shirt, he hesitated. Fett had requested his armor. Din knew how to follow instructions.

Fett rewarded him with a smile. “Go on,” he said. “Show me.”

Din took his eyes off of Fett to slip his cowl over his head. He made short work of his shirt, his fingers flying along the buttons. The marks that Fett had made were still visible on Din’s stomach, though they were faint. At the sight of them, warmth pooled in his belly. He hoped he might make more, make something that would last, so he could feel it when his armor rubbed him the wrong way.

“Want me to touch you, Din?” Fett asked.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Yes, sir,” Fett corrected.

It cut like a slap across his cheek, and Din almost recoiled. He wanted to be good, but he couldn’t if he didn’t know the rules.

“You won’t use my name when you answer, if we’re alone,” Fett explained.

“Yes… sir.” Din had difficulty forming the word, but once he did, it sounded so right.

Fett traced a finger along Din’s collarbone, light like he was touching something delicate that might break. In its wake, Din’s skin felt electric, and he arched into the touch. Fett followed the topography of Din’s scars down his chest, where a jagged white gnarl of flesh flowed into raised pink punctures. When he got to the marks he’d left, Fett circled them with his thumb, the rough pad dragging, a slight twinge of pain following.

He pulled back and patted his thigh. “Up, in my lap.”

More than a few seconds without Fett’s touch seemed intolerable. Though one of his feet had fallen asleep, Din rose swiftly. He staggered forward, determined to keep his balance, and straddled Fett. His knees slid to either side of Fett’s hips, his thighs spread wide. The bulge that pressed against his own hard cock was too enticing, and Din ground against him. It wasn’t fair that he hadn’t even seen Fett’s cock, but fairness had nothing to do with Fett.

“Not yet.” Fett gripped Din’s rib cage and pulled him so he knelt up.

Din balanced himself with his hands on Fett’s shoulders. He couldn’t get any friction against his cock this way, but it made it so Fett’s mouth was level with his chest. It was worth it, to feel Fett’s warm lips latch on to one of his nipples, his tongue swirling. When it tightened into a bud, he captured it between his teeth. Din jolted in his hands, on the edge between pain and pleasure. Fett licked and nibbled until Din began absentmindedly rocking his hips, then he gave his attention to the other side.

His nipple was red and puffy, wet with Fett’s saliva. Seeing his body changed in that little way made him want more. The air felt so much colder than it had before Fett’s attentions, and Din shivered. Fett took pity and covered it with his hand, rolling the sore skin between his fingers.

When Fett had made a matching pair of aching buds, he admired his work, his forefinger and thumb forming a V to frame them. “Ever thought about putting rings through these?”

“No, sir. I mean… not seriously,” Din said.

He’d thought about it plenty. Thought about the slaves he’d seen with rings strung with little bells as he tugged on his own nipples, one hand under his shirt and the other in his pants. But he’d never asked for it, and he never would, not unless someone told him to.

“You should.” Fett squeezed tight on both sides.

“Is that an order?” Din asked. He wondered how different it would feel from this.

“Just something to think about. It’s your body.” Fett tipped his head to a different angle, like he was picturing Din pierced for him. “But you look like you might like it.”

Din nodded, his teeth clenched too tight for him to hazard any words.

Fett moved on from his nipples to cup Din’s cock through his pants. The dripping head smeared precome on his belly as he rut against Fett’s hand, as hard as Fett would let him. Din felt horribly lewd grinding into Fett’s palm while Fett watched with rapt attention. He didn’t know where he’d gotten the brazen courage from. Maybe it was too much to care about everything that was going on while safeguarding his pride.

Before Din could get carried away, Fett stilled his hips with an iron grip. “Want to take your pants down. You good with that?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.” Din didn’t need to be asked twice.

Though he hated to leave Fett’s lap, he had to stand to remove his leg armor. Fett took the opportunity to move to the bed, but Din lagged behind, standing beside his pile of beskar.

“You real keen on that chair?” Fett asked.

Din shrugged. He hadn’t been bothered by the chair or the way his thighs had started to go weak from keeping himself propped up, but if Fett wanted to lie them down, he wasn’t going to protest.

He left his armor behind and stood before Fett, feet shoulder width apart and back straight, unsure whether to kneel or wait for Fett to unbutton his pants. Fett seemed to like undressing him, and Din wanted him to have what he liked.

He’d made the right choice. Fett slipped his hands down the back of Din’s pants, fingers kneading his ass. He slid the pants around his thighs and caressed his hips.

“Look at you,” Fett breathed.

Din wasn’t expecting to feel Fett’s lips on the head of his cock, feel the velvet heat of his mouth. His tongue teased along the tip, just as talented as he’d been with his nipples. It was easy for him to take Din all the way to the root, and Din could hear his words from the night before. _Pretty little cock._

Fett slipped Din out of his mouth with a wet pop and lapped at the head. He looked up at Din’s helmet with wide eyes. Din clenched his hands by his sides. His cock was settled on Fett’s obscene pink tongue. Fett watched as Din huffed and tried to keep still. Din wanted to take his head in his hands and fuck his mouth until he came down the back of his throat, but he’d have to live with what Fett gave him.

“Like to see you squirm,” Fett said, his lips shiny from sucking Din.

He pushed Din’s pants down until they tangled around his ankles, and Din stepped out of them cautiously. Fett caught Din’s wrist in his hand and pulled him onto the bed. Din curled up beside him, bringing his knees to his chest, his mask nudging Fett’s arm.

“You all right?” Fett trailed his fingers along the knobs of Din’s spine.

Din was bare before the only man who’d ever given him what he wanted without expecting something back. His cock throbbed between his legs, and if he was good, he’d probably get to come soon. In any other time he’d be better than all right. But his mind was fractured, worry seeping between the cracks.

“What did you mean last night,” Din said, like Fett should be able to see inside his head to parse the statement. When Fett gave him a quizzical look, Din continued, “About choosing between bad and worse?”

Fett’s hand stopped moving. “That might be taking things a little fast.”

“I’m not worried,” Din countered. When would they have the chance again?

“Want me to show you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Din pressed his hips to Fett’s side, showing him how hard he was, how much he wanted it. He rubbed his mask against Fett’s chest and wished he could put his mouth on him, touch him the way Fett had touched him earlier. When Fett edged away, Din worried that he’d done something wrong.

“Sit between my legs,” Fett said and settled his back against the headboard.

Din crawled to his lap, and Fett guided him to turn around, so his naked back rested against Fett’s shirt. Fett surrounded Din, chin perched on his shoulder, legs pressed on either side of his. His hands skirted down Din’s chest, over his hips, to briefly massage his thighs. His thumbs ran along the inside of his legs, easing him open wider. Din went boneless and let Fett move him.

Then, Fett took Din’s sack in his right hand. He rolled him in his hand like he was inspecting him, the resulting sensation more ticklish than painful. Din locked his knees to keep his legs from slamming shut. Fett squeezed, not so gentle, and Din let out a noise like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Don’t be tough,” Fett whispered. “Tell me if you can’t take it.”

Fett relaxed his grip, and Din drew deep breaths in. But the relief didn’t last. Fett wrapped his left hand around Din’s throat, pinning him against his chest. When Din swallowed, his Adam’s apple bulged against unyielding fingers. His balls ached in Fett’s hand. He was snared.

The two points of control tore his attention. Without thinking, he lifted his hips, trying to escape the pressure. Fett tightened the hand on his neck in response. Din’s heart drummed in his ears, and his throat made a clicking sound as he tried to breath. He leaned back against Fett’s chest to ease the choke hold, but there was no easing without a return of the pain to his sack.

He could feel Fett’s voiceless laugh ripple in his chest.

“You move here.” Fett clamped his hand harder around Din’s neck. “This gets worse.” He tugged on Din’s sack for emphasis.

Din tried to nod, but he could barely move his head. He’d never let someone take away his ability to breath before.

“You understand now?” Fett loosened his hand long enough for Din to answer.

Din gasped, “Yes, sir.”

Fett mouthed a kiss on his shoulder in response. He licked at the crook between shoulder and neck, and Din let out a pathetic whine. His skin had become so sensitive from Fett’s attentions that even a kiss was nearly too much.

Din gave himself to Fett’s control, panting and wincing, unsure how long he could endure it. His cock was still hard, but the desperation and the hurt were building to something that might topple him. Fett must have sensed Din’s distress, for he relaxed his hold.

“Watching you hurt is the prettiest thing.” Fett rolled his hips against Din’s ass, the heft of his cock apparent, and Din writhed in his lap. “Going to fuck you now.” Fett said it like Din didn’t get a choice in the matter.

As Fett quickly undressed, Din spread out on his back until he took up much of the bed, unused to so much space. He could still feel Fett’s fingers on his throat with each breath. He tried to commit the feeling to memory.

After Fett had stripped, he knelt over Din. “Your neck’s going to bruise,” he said and ghosted over his own fingerprints.

Din shuddered. He hoped Fett was right. He wanted Fett’s fingerprints burned into his skin, like a chain he could never take off.

Fett held his thick cock in his hand and stroked it lazily. He could barely get his hand around the veined length. It made Din’s look like it belonged to a different species. But Din could take it. He had enough practice in back rooms across the galaxy.

A slick finger pressed to Din’s hole, and he shifted his hips up to meet it. It sunk in easily, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Fett slipped a second in and curled them to rub Din’s prostate. The well-earned pleasure fluttered in his belly, and his cock leaked clear fluid, but he didn’t touch it. He knew what might happen if he did, and he wanted very much to come.

Fett lined himself up and slowly penetrated Din. His cock was considerably thicker than two fingers, and Din savored the burn as he bottomed out. His hole clenched around Fett, and he tried to relax. Being this full was something he was unlikely to enjoy again soon.

Fett started to rock his hips, and Din wrapped his legs around him, drawing him deeper.

“Think you can come?” Fett asked.

“Yes, sir.”

The question hardly needed an answer. Din’s hand trembled as he wrapped it around his cock. His thumb slipped over the wet head, and his stomach clenched. He didn’t bite back the moan in his throat as he finally got much needed relief.

“Want to feel you come on my cock.” Fett snapped his hips back and drove into Din. His broad chest heaved and his nostrils flared. With a sheen of sweat covering his bronze skin, he looked like an ancient god.

Every muscle in Din’s body tightened as he came, contracting around Fett’s cock. He’d made it last for as long as he could, which wasn’t long. Under his helmet, tears gathered in his eyes and stung fiercely, but Fett would never know.

“That’s it,” Fett said, his voice hoarse. “So good for me.”

Fett didn’t last much longer before he collapsed onto Din, mouth hot on his neck as he filled him up. Din’s limp cock twitched as Fett softened inside him and slipped out.

Fett rolled onto his back, and Din stretched out, his sweat damp hair stuck to his neck. He didn’t move when Fett cleaned him off between his legs. Neither spoke. The humid air in the room said it all for them.

Din woke to Fett’s arm stretched possessively over his chest. With the haze of sleep still blanketing him, it took him a moment to recall what had happened, how far he’d gone down. He tugged the edge of the sheet over his shoulder, just to have something to cover him.

Their thighs were pressed together, the skin sticky from falling asleep slicked with sweat. Din moved his ankle, testing what was him and what was Fett. Slowly, he worked his way out of Fett’s arms without waking him.

First light had begun to glow behind the curtains. Din padded to where he’d left his armor and silently slipped it on. With practiced ease, the pieces came together. He knew it better than his skin.

Din reclined in the chair that Fett had sat in the day before, the chair he’d sat in too. His fingers drummed on the beskar covering his thighs, and he watched Fett blink and stretch his arms over his head.

“You’re up early,” Fett said and pushed himself onto his elbows.

Din nodded.

“Ready?”

Din nodded.

“Let’s go find your kid.”

* * *

Fennec had let him in. Fett was out, but she showed him to his rooms. She didn’t ask questions, just closed the door.

Din slid to his knees. He crawled to the bedside and lay his mask on the comforter, breathing in Fett’s scent. It wasn’t enough. He pressed the release on his helmet and tipped it back, burying his nose in the ghost of Fett. He didn’t know how long he stayed that way, but at some point he stopped being able to feel his arms.

When the door hissed open, he pulled his face off the bed and knelt. His helmet slipped down to cover his mouth once more.

“Din,” Fett said. “I heard about…” He removed his helmet and started stripping this rest of his armor.

Din spread his thighs, sat up straight. He placed his hands palm up on his knees. Fett didn’t need to teach him how to be good a second time.

Fett quickly walked to him then crouched by his side. “Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Din whispered. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

“You can stay here as long as you want.”

Fett dropped his gloves and put a hand on Din’s shoulder. His fingers worked their way under the edge of Din’s shirt to press against his pulse point. It was the warmest thing Din had felt in days. He turned his head so Fett’s knuckles brushed under his chin.

Din took hold of his helmet.

Fett reached to stop him. “You don’t have to,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter.” Din shook his head. “I took it off on Morak. On Moff Gideon’s ship.”

“If it still matters to you, it matters to me.”

Fett sat down on the side of the bed, a little away from Din. Din needed to give Fett this last piece of him. He removed the helmet and set it at Fett’s feet. A sharp breath came from Fett. Din kept his eyes downcast, too afraid to see Fett see him, and lay his head in his lap. He inhaled the scent of beskar and sweat, so strong without the helmet to filter it.

“Din,” Fett said it like it hurt him.

He ran his fingertips over Din’s cheekbones and across the curve of his lips. He touched him as a blind man might, to learn by feel what he could never see.

“Just wanted to do the right thing, for the child,” Din said.

“You did.” Fett pet Din’s forehead so gently that it was barely a touch.

“Then why does it hurt so bad?”

“What’s right isn’t easy,” Fett said solemnly. “You know that far better than I do.”

Din shifted his weight to take pressure off his aching ankles. The hard floor bruised his knees, but the hurt felt right.

“Give me something worse,” Din begged. “Please. I don’t want to feel this bad any more.”

Fett shook his head. “I can’t think of anything worse than this. And even if I could, you don’t deserve that kind of pain.”

Din sat up and looked straight at Fett. Fett’s eyes widened, and the scars on his forehead creased. He grasped the edge of the bed.

“Please,” Din choked out.

“I’m not going to hurt you like that,” Fett said. “Don’t punish yourself. It won’t bring the kid back.”

Din hung his head. Fett was right. All the pain in the galaxy wouldn’t change this. “At least let me do something for you, even if it’s not worse,” he said. He couldn’t stand another minute alone with his mind.

“You don’t need to do anything.”

Fett cupped Din’s face in his hands and tilted his head up. To avoid meeting Fett’s eyes, Din looked at his chin instead, his brief boldness gone. Without his helmet, there wasn’t an easy way for him to hide. Fett stroked Din’s matted hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. The slight hurt caused by the tangles made Din lean into the touch.

“You’re a mess,” Fett said and smoothed his hand over Din’s patchy cheek.

“I know.” Din had been running without stopping. He hadn’t even considered taking the time to clean up.

“Not taking care of yourself,” Fett chided.

“Hard to care.” Din rubbed his cheek against his shoulder, trying to disguise his scruffy face as best he could.

“Hey.” Fett held Din’s chin so he couldn’t turn away. “I care.”

At those words, Din’s heart beat faster.

“Let me take care of you.”

Though his wasn’t sure how Fett intended to care for him, Din nodded.

Fett pulled Din to his feet and led him by hand to the refresher. The sterile white tile gleamed so bright it made Din’s head ache. Fett turned the shower on and, as it warmed, began to strip Din. Din watched the steam bloom while Fett released his armor, while he stripped the rest of his clothes, calloused fingers peeling off his underwear. Now that he’d shown Fett his face, his body hardly seemed to matter.

Fett helped Din into the shower then set about undressing himself. The hot water was the greatest luxury compared to the sonic showers Din was used to. He stood with his back to the stream and let it pelt his sore neck.

The shower door swung open, and the rush of cold air startled Din. Fett stepped in and wrapped his arms around him. He rubbed soothing circles on Din’s back, and Din buried his face in Fett’s neck. Pressed to his skin, he breathed in the musk on Fett then flicked his tongue out to taste him. The skin there was so much softer than his fingers had been. Din licked and sucked at his throat as long as he was allowed.

When Fett pulled him away, Din saw the red splotch he had left just under his jaw. Proud warmth coiled in his belly. He hadn’t expected it to be so easy to mark him.

Fett worked a rich lather onto his hands and spread it on Din’s jaw. Din pressed his back to the cool tile wall. The sharp blade caught Din’s eye before Fett picked it up.

“Want me to clean you up?”

“Yes, sir.”

Fett opened the blade. “Stay still,” he said and pulled Din’s cheek taut.

The blade started high, removing most of Din’s sideburn. Fett’s fingers followed in its wake, searching for stray hairs. The skin he uncovered was ticklish under his touch, so different from when Din shaved himself. He barely breathed as he watched the suds of his beard disappear down the drain. Fett gripped Din’s chin tight between his fingers and positioned him to shave his neck.

Once Fett was satisfied with his work, he had Din rinse his face under the hot water. His bare skin burned where the razor had grazed him, sensitive as a freshly healed wound. He shifted his hips, and the water ran over his swelling cock.

“I take care of what’s mine,” Fett said.

“What’s yours,” Din whispered. He had never been anyone’s before.

“Have you ever.” Fett pulled Din close and put his thumb to Din’s lips.

Din shook his head and heat rose to his cheeks. He parted his lips to take the finger in, but Fett took it away.

The first brush of Fett’s lips against his was so slight it wasn’t even a kiss. Din tried to chase him when he pulled back, but Fett held him to the wall. The look in his eyes was one of conquest. Once more, he touched his lips to Din’s before retreating. Din’s fingers curled against the slippery tile, but he accepted that he needed to be patient.

Fett positioned Din’s head just right then pressed his lips to Din’s, full and firm. The slight stubble on his chin scratched Din, and he melted at the abrasion. Though he had nothing else to compare it to, he suspected Fett had taken his beard off just so he could feel skin against skin in this moment.

Fett’s lips parted and he licked at Din’s, the wet sweep of his tongue working its way between Din’s lips. Din gasped against Fett, and Fett took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Din’s mouth. Din’s knees went weak, but Fett kept him standing with a hand on his heck. Din hadn’t realized that being filled this way would make him feel like that.

Fett sought Din’s tongue, and Din tentatively moved it. His little licks were kittenish against Fett’s. When Din became confident enough to tangle his tongue with Fett’s, Fett pulled back. He caught Din’s lower lip between his teeth, and Din made the mistake of opening his eyes. Fett’s face was dark, like they’d been fighting rather than kissing. Din jerked his head, and Fett released him.

“You learn quick,” Fett whispered.

Din panted from holding his breath.

“Seem to like it too.” Fett wrapped his wet hand around Din’s hard cock, and Din couldn’t resist thrusting into his touch.

Before Din could achieve a steady rhythm, Fett let go. “Let’s clean up before the water goes cold,” he said and grabbed the soap.

Fett quickly washed Din, careful to avoid lingering between his legs, then gave himself a brief scrub. After shutting off the water, he grabbed a soft towel and dried Din. He hung the towel around Din’s shoulders and gently pushed him toward the shower door. Without the encouragement, Din might have stayed in steam filled shower all night.

When Din stepped out of the shower, he caught sight of his face in the foggy mirror. With his beard gone, he looked a decade younger. He touched where his sideburn had been and bit back a whimper. Fett wanted him like this.

“Come here,” Fett said as he hung up his towel.

Din stepped forward and knelt on the tile before him.

“I didn’t mean—”

Fett’s protest ended when Din pressed tender kisses to his soft stomach. The tip of his tongue traced spiraling shapes low on his abdomen, and Fett rewarded him with a stifled moan. He nosed over Fett’s curls as his mouth trailed lower, eager to taste more of him.

“If you’ve never kissed—”

Din nuzzled his bare cheek against Fett’s hard length. His mouth filled with saliva as he imagined how it would stretch his lips.

“You sure you want to?”

“Yes, sir,” Din answered. “Want to be good for you.” It was more than a want. He needed to. Needed to stop his thoughts from returning to things he couldn’t change.

“You’d crawl on broken glass if someone promised to call you good, wouldn’t you,” Fett said with hushed admiration.

“Maybe,” Din said.

Fett leaned back against the counter, moving out of Din’s reach. “You’re good even when you’re not not hurting, Din.”

Din chewed on the inside of his lip. “Just let me, please.”

Fett fisted his cock and stepped to where Din knelt. He was passive and let Din decide how to begin. Din lapped at the tip. The fluid that beaded there tasted different from his own, more pungent. He explored the supple head with his tongue, then flicked it against the underside, trying to replicate what others had done to him.

Fett sighed, and Din pulled back to look at him. Fett’s eyes widened, and Din worried he’d done something wrong.

“So pretty. On your knees like this. Your first time,” Fett grit out. “Keep going.” He ran his thumb over the wet tip of his cock, waiting for Din to return to it.

Din took the head in his mouth and sucked like he was savoring Fett, humming as he laved his tongue over it. Each noise he drew out of Fett felt like a victory. Little by little, he worked his way down Fett’s cock until it brushed the back of his tongue. It was only halfway. Din didn’t have any personal experience to draw on. No one who’d sucked him encountered this problem.

“Give me your hand,” Fett said.

Din reached to take Fett’s hand, and Fett wrapped it around his cock, covering it with his own. Saliva dripped onto their fingers, and Fett began to move in concert with Din’s mouth. Din let his hand be guided.

“That’s it.”

Once Din had the right rhythm down, Fett tangled his fingers in his hair, tightening each time he rolled his hips forward. Din hollowed his cheeks and tried to keep up as Fett thrust into his mouth. The thrusts were shallow, and Din knew he was holding back. Din’s jaw began to ache, but he pushed farther, eager to take more of Fett, take him all the way.

When Fett hit the back of his throat, Din retched. Tears welled in his eyes and he gasped for air. Fett pulled him off and stroked his cheek. He gave Din time to swallow down the pool of saliva in his mouth.

Din rubbed the tears from his eyes and stretched his neck for more.

“You like that?”

Din nodded.

Fett slid into Din’s mouth, carefully, until he hit his soft pallet. Din’s throat contracted and he struggled to breathe, but Fett held him there, caressing his neck, as he got used to the feeling. Then he pulled back and repeated it. After a few attempts, Din only choked a little. His mouth was completely full, but he still hadn’t taken all of Fett.

“You’ll have to practice to take it all the way,” Fett explained.

Din swallowed around him. He wanted Fett to use his throat. Wanted his mouth to be as good as his other hole.

Fett rocked his hips easy. “Not tonight.”

As Fett thrust faster, Din kept his jaw slack and made sure his teeth stayed covered. He couldn’t do much else as Fett fucked his face, making him sloppy, his spit dripping from the corners of he mouth. He seized when Fett slid too deep again, but Fett didn’t stop this time.

“I’m going to—” Fett’s fingers tightened on Din’s scalp.

With a final deep thrust, Fett stilled. He pulsed in Din’s mouth, and the bitter fluid gathered at the back of his tongue. Din swallowed it down without a second thought, proud to have been good enough to make Fett come on his first try.

Fett rested his head against the wall and caught his breath. His eyes were half lidded, a flush spread across his chest. He was so stunning Din almost told him so. Maybe, with practice, Din would be able to do that too.

“Come with me,” Fett said and pulled Din to his feet.

When Din stood, his hard cock was on display. A strand of precome dripped onto the floor.

Fett looked at it. “You want help?” he said then palmed Din’s cock and squeezed.

His rough touch was bliss, but Din stopped him and covered his cock with his hand.

“No, sir.”

Fett smiled coyly. “If that’s what you want.”

Din got the impression that Fett liked the idea. Liked Din not getting to come just as much as the alternative. He didn’t look at Din’s cock again. Instead, he busied himself at the sink, wetting a washcloth. Fett wiped off Din’s face then kissed his bruised lips gently.

“Come to bed.” He tugged on Din’s hand and walked out of the refresher.

Din followed him to the bed big enough for more than two. When Fett pulled back the sheets, Din stopped in his tracks.

“Maybe that’s not a good idea,” Din said.

“What do you mean?” Fett sounded a little hurt.

“Maybe I should go.” Maybe he shouldn’t have come at all.

“Where?” Fett asked and sat on the bed.

Din looked at the door like something more than the Tatooine desert waited on the other side. “I don’t know,” he said.

“If you don’t know, you might as well stay until you figure it out.”

Din climbed into bed and curled up on his side. “How do I figure it out?”

“You had a life before.” Fett lay down beside Din but left enough space that they didn’t touch. “What did you do?”

“Drifted,” Din answered.

“So do that.”

“Seems pointless now.” Din felt sick at the thought of hopping from one bounty to another, while weeks blurred into years.

“You need a purpose?” Fett asked.

Din arched his neck to look at Fett. “Have a spare one?”

A wry smile formed on Fett’s lips. “I don’t know much about grand plans.”

“What do you do out here?” Din stretched a hair closer to Fett.

“Drift, mostly.”

“Where are you headed next?” Din asked.

“Nowhere particular. Want to come along?”

“Yes, sir.” Din tucked himself into the contours of Fett’s body, filling the void space.

“Just follow me,” Fett said and kissed Din’s brow. “Might end up somewhere you like.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sinnotalone)


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